


Demolition Lovers

by Cursed_Me



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Forever, I'm Sorry, M/M, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE HEROES, Sad, a trainwreck really, like phantoms, or a good therapist, poor soul, secret message in the tags:, set after 15x19, this is pure grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:13:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cursed_Me/pseuds/Cursed_Me
Summary: Chuck has been defeated, Jack is the new God, everything is back to normal... except Cas hasn't come back, and Dean knows he's not going to.just look at the tags, I suck at summaries.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 13





	Demolition Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cat_as_Trophy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_as_Trophy/gifts).



> I wrote this in two hours and a half (yes I am slow af) instead of sleeping because I had an epiphany: Dean and Cas are the demolition lovers.   
> nobody is gonna even read this because no one wants to read sad things right now and tomorrow all hell's gonna break loose, but I don't care, I needed to get this out.  
> thanks in advance for any eventual feedback, tho.  
> love you all,   
>  Matt

Dean never listened to My Chemical Romance.

Ok, he caught a song or two on the radio back in, like, ’05, but that was never really his kind of music, and he never went to look them up or anything.

He doesn’t recognize the singer’s voice, when Spotify starts playing one of their song.

He barely even hears it.

He’s lying on his bed, and he’s still completely dressed (he’s wearing that jacket again) and his boots are still on, the phone playing the music is laying on the nightstand and the door is slightly ajar and he could swear he feels Sam’s gaze on his skin sometimes, but he does his best to ignore it.

He appreciates his little brother checking on him, really, but he wishes he wouldn’t just come around and stare at him as if he was an animal in display every few minutes.

Dean is _fine_. Really. He just needs time to… he just needs time. He just needs to rest, because he’s so, so tired he can’t even breath without his chest aching to the point he wants to scream.

He feels hollow. He feels as if his head was full of bees and as if his heart was empty and broken and as if his lungs were dry and squeezed in a ribcage two sizes too small, and he wants to be alone, and he wants to sleep.

But Sammy keeps looking at him with giant teary eyes, as if he expected Dean to fall apart like a steeple under a bombing any moment now.

Dean is not about to fall apart. Dean is _fine_. He just wishes he could be alone and think, for a second.

No, he doesn’t really. He never wants to think again. Hence the random playlist of sad songs played by a stupid app he downloaded a few days ago that keeps blasting advertising at him.

For the first time in his life, his music doesn’t help him: it bears too many memories, and now it’s not a good time for memories, and he doesn’t have the courage to browse his collection of albums anymore.

He just wants to lay on his fucking bed and stop thinking, stop feeling, just… stop. Rest: he’s _so_ tired he can’t even feel his eyes anymore.

Then the song starts and the singer says something about _icy blues_ , and maybe after all Dean _is not_ fine and maybe he _is_ going to fall a part because all of a sudden he feels tears stinging at the back of his eyes.

_Again_.

He doesn’t know when the last time he cried has been. He doesn’t know how many days it’s been since… he doesn’t know how long it’s been.

So many things happened and he was sort of hopeful at the start that maybe this mess was going to fix itself, that maybe… that maybe Cas was coming back.

That maybe he could have just been happy for once.

But Cas didn’t come back, and now Dean is laying on his bed with his muddy boots still on because he honest to whatever doesn’t have the energy to take them off, and he can just see Cas’s eyes right there, in front of him, glossy from the tears, so blue the sky paled in comparison.

And Dean just… if he had just _said_ something, _done_ something… if he had just _known_. He should have known.

He was such a fucking idiot and now Cas is… now Cas is gone, and Dean can’t say nor do anything, and it doesn’t matter that he knows because now there’s no coming back.

Cas gave everything, and he gave it for _him_.

And Dean knows he’s supposed to be grateful… and he is, really, and he also knows that he’s supposed to smile and be happy and make it so that Cas’s sacrifice doesn’t go wasted, but Dean honestly hasn’t been okay one day in his life, and he doesn’t even know where to start.

And he has no idea of how he’s supposed to be okay now that Cas is gone, either.

If he’d just _said_ something, maybe he’d feel less like shitty. If he hadn’t been so stupid, maybe Cas wouldn’t have had to go without knowing what he meant to him.

He talked about this to Sam at some point. Days ago. Weeks. Dean doesn’t know anymore.

Sam told him Cas knew, but Dean know it’s not true.

Cas even said something about how he could never have what he wanted. About happiness not being in the having.

Dean hates that he can’t remember every single word of what Cas said to him, that every time he tries to replay the scene in his mind it just fades into pain and tears.

He should have taken notes, written it down, or even just stopped his mind from racing for a split second to listen better… but it all happened _so_ fucking fast that it felt like falling, and Dean didn’t have the time to process, to react, to say that… he still can’t, though.

He doesn’t even know if he should because it doesn’t matter anymore.

After all they’ve been through, after all they’ve pulled each other through, after years being just bullets in Chuck’s gun, after Dean watched the angels fall from the sky like snow, after _Cas_ fell from the fucking sky for Dean, after Dean went around for months with Cas’s coat in the trunk of his cars… after all these years, it doesn’t matter anymore.

It doesn’t matter that Dean tried: that he opened his mouth to say it a thousand times, but there was always something else, always an excuse.

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure. And Cas wasn’t _like_ him, maybe he couldn’t even feel things like that.

And he could see that Cas doubted sometimes that Dean cared. He could tell that Cas was scared of loosing him, that sometime he felt like Dean only kept him around because he was useful, and Dean sometimes just wanted to hug the shit out of him and tell him he wasn’t himself when Cas wasn’t around, but he never did.

It was never the time. He was scared. Why would Cas feel like that _for him_ of all people?

He still doesn’t understand that, because he doesn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to be saved.

It should have been him. Or they should have gone together, like the stupid singer in the stupid song is singing about ending his days with someone else in a stupid car on a stupid highway in a hail of bullets.

But Cas saved him, for the thousandth time, and he went alone, and he was crying and smiling and Dean _didn’t_ tell him.

If he’d just told him… or if he’s been just less of an idiot in the last twelve years, maybe things would be different.

He moves his right hand to place it on Cas’s handprint on his shoulder.

There was no pool of blood, no body to burn, _nothing_. Cas was just gone.

If he’d been less of a coward and had took Cas’s hand into his, even just one of the billions of times Cas (or Dean) was standing too close and the sleeves of their coats had brushed against each other, even _just once_ , maybe Cas would have known.

Even _just once_.

Cas said the happiness was in just saying it, that much Dean remembers, but Dean can’t say it.

Dean can just lay on his bed listening to sad songs by bands he’s never listened to and try not to cry himself asleep because he always has nightmares, when he cries himself asleep.

He swallows a knot of tears and stares at the ceiling.

_Happiness is in just saying it_ , he repeats, in his head.

And he knows he’s not like that, he knows saying it won’t fix him, and he knows it doesn’t matter anymore… but maybe Cas deserves it, after all, even if he’s not there to hear him, even if he’s gone.

Maybe Dean can be brave, for once in his life.

Even if it’s not the time. Even if he’s scared. Even if he’s not ready.

-I… - he starts, and his voice sounds faded, tired, raw from not talking for so long, shaky because he’s on the verge of crying… he sounds broken.

-I… don’t think you can hear me. – he mutters -I just… -

Tears force themselves out of his eyes, burning their way out, forcing him to close his eyes.

-I love you, Cas. – he says, so softly he can barely hear himself -I love you. - 


End file.
